


First Time in a Long Time

by IMAgentMI, PFLAgentYork (Legendaerie)



Series: Post-PFL RP AU [10]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Menstruation, No Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 17:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18451283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/pseuds/IMAgentMI, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/PFLAgentYork
Summary: Carolina woke up on the wrong side of the bed.  Whooooboy.





	First Time in a Long Time

Carolina wakes up alone.

The sun is already up, and judging by the light in the room, has been up for some time. She knew York was gone before she even opened her eyes - he would never allow her to get cold while they are in bed together, and today she woke up freezing. Her blankets are half kicked off and as she reaches down to try and pull them back up, she hears a sound outside. Carolina pauses long enough to be certain it's York, then kicks the rest of the blankets clear off the bed.

Her nightgown comes off as soon as she's on her feet, and she throws it across the bed with a silent snarl. _God forbid she ever leaves the bed without his express permission._

Carolina shoves down her panties, trying to kick them off her foot and staggering into the bedside table in the process. _But he can just leave her whenever he wants._

She walks into the bathroom, yanks on the dial to start the shower and even slams the bathroom door shut instead of leaving it open as an invitation. Her face is hot, but her eyes are dry, and she hurriedly steps into the stream before that can change.

Meanwhile, in the greenhouse, York rubs the edge of a rosemary leaf, inhaling deeply. In his mind he tries to imagine the taste of the herb, how it might harmonize with the other flavors.

A soft chime catches his attention - Delta has something to say to him. “Yeah, D?”

“ _Carolina is awake and currently in the shower._ ”

“How’s the bread?”

“ _You have fourteen minutes and eight seconds left on the timer._ ”

York grins and goes back to his herb-picking. “I still got time, then.”

Inside, Carolina lingers in the hot water, aggressively scrubbing at her hair to remove any last bits of conditioner that, in truth, had been rinsed out long ago. _He didn't even bother to come in_. She hadn't even wanted him to come in, but that didn't matter. He could have at least tried. He could have at least poked his head in so she would have had a reason to tell him to get out. He couldn't even do that right.

_What's he even doing? What does he care about more than me?_

The thought makes her eyes sting again, but she has been in the shower too long already. _His fault_. Carolina turns off the shower with another vicious twist of the dial and grabs for a towel.

In the kitchen, a smudge of dirt un-noticed on his cheek, York gently folds the chopped herbs into the softened butter. In a better world he would have gotten up even earlier to do this, but he’d spent a good chunk of the morning laying awake next to Carolina, soaking in her nearness. The butter won't taste as good with only a few minutes to infuse with flavor, but it should still serve as fair accompaniment to breakfast.

And with that settled, York turns to the mess he’s made of the kitchen.

In the bedroom, Carolina pulls on a pair of jeans and freezes in horror.

_Are these getting...tight_?

She knew that their lifestyle had been drastically different, and they hadn’t yet been able to set up a gym area like York had talked about, but…

Something inside her snaps.

Carolina struggles to take off her pants as quickly as possible, throwing them at the hamper on the far side of the room. She finds a pair of sweats, changes quickly, pulling on a t-shirt and grabbing a pair of socks before she storms out the door.

The smell of fresh bread hits her like a wall as soon as she opens the door and she pauses, blinking at York. He has his back to her as he wipes flour off the counter, the oven, and is that a spot on the wall?

“Good morning,” he greets her sunnily, tossing the words over his shoulder as he works. “Breakfast should be done in about… four minutes? Maybe? I can't make any concrete promises, I'm trying out a new recipe for rosemary cheese bread.”

Silent and cold, Carolina stares him down before walking over to grab her shoes from near the front door. She sits down right on floor, wrestling on her socks, refusing to give him another look, or even a word.

“Carolina?” His hands still as he watches her. “Hey. Everything okay?”

She finishes tying her shoes before answering, tightening the laces with tiny jerks that make her shoes too snug, but she doesn't care. “I'm going for a run.”

“You… don't want breakfast?” Internally, York scrambles to recall if he’s missing something. Was she lactose intolerant? Didn't like rosemary? Did he leave his laundry on the floor for too many days in a row?

Even as angry as she is, the hurt in his voice cuts to the heart of her, but she is too insulated by fury for it to matter. “No.” She heads for the door, then pauses with one hand on the door to call back over her shoulder, pure acid. “You missed a spot.” Carolina storms out the door, slamming it behind her, and is already running before she is even off the porch

Stunned, York stares at the space she had just stood in as though he’s made of stone. Only the beep of the timer snaps him out of his stupor, and he wipes off his cheek as he takes the bread out, appetite gone.

“Did she take her phone with her?” he asks the seemingly empty house. Delta answers.

“ _No_.”

His heart sinks. “Do-- do you know what's wrong?”

“ _I cannot say for sure. I have a variety of theories but lack sufficient evidence to voice any of them_.”

York checks out the window for her. “So your guess is as good as mine?”

“ _Incorrect. My guesses are based off logic and evidence, and are fact checked against a full database of information._ ”

“Sure,” York replied absently, and goes back to cleaning.

Outside, Carolina doesn't leave the yard. She can't. Even when furious, she is tethered to York, can't bear to be far from him. So instead of taking off for the road, which was her original plan, she settles in to do circuits around their yard.

It's hard to tell exactly how much land they own, but it really doesn't matter. With no neighbors for kilometers in any direction, they may as well own everything they can see, no one else is using it. But she knows that all the open land around the house along the road and back to the forest is definitely theirs, and the perimeter is long enough and hilly enough to make each round a challenge.

Her first lap seems easy enough, powered by the same boiling fury that pushed her out of the house to begin with. Back behind the house, around by the trees that protect their home from view of the road. Then it is down the grassy side of the hill, around the edge of the field of long grasses and wildflowers before back up again, this time navigating up the dull black rock that makes up the bones of this planet.

When she approaches the house, that's when she feels it the first time. That's when she becomes aware of York, pulling at her like a star, holding her in orbit. For a moment, Carolina thinks she can smell fresh baked bread, and guilt and regret sink their claws into her heart. She pushes on though, anger still hot enough to overpower her other emotions, and she kicks her legs harder, starting her next lap at a higher speed.

It's not enough though. She can't outpace the memory of his voice, confused and devastated before she left. She can't stop herself from imagining the way his face must have fallen, and as she does, the anger starts to leak away. By the time she makes it down the hill and back, it is bleeding out freely, leaving her even colder than when she had awoken this morning, and needing him just as much.

Carolina completes her lap behind the house and carries on from sheer inertia at first. But it doesn't even take conscious thought- as soon as the house is out of her view she turns, heading back. She slows as she approaches, until she is at a walk as she passes the garage. Carolina takes each step up to the porch at a crawl and stops completely at the door, one hand on the door knob and eyes closed as she takes a deep breath. She pushes the door open and stops dead.

It's spotless. He must have really been upset: unlike her, who punches her way through an emotional block, York likes to tidy. ‘If I can't fix what I'm worried about, i’ll find something else to fix.’ The kitchen hasn't looked this clean in a month.

Carolina checks the living room, bedroom, bathroom - all empty, and the laundry bin has been moved as well. Finally, she hears the hum of the washing machine from their little storage and utility room next door. York is there, his back to the door, folding clothes with brisk efficiency.

Just the sight of him makes Carolina’s eyes sting again and she closes them against the knowledge of just how badly she hurt him. She is all he has, on this entire planet, she is it, the only one he knows or cares about. And she shut him out.

She won't open her eyes, can't open her eyes or there will be tears, and she refuses to let him see her cry. Instead, she leans against the doorway, head tucked against the wood, and clears her throat, but when she speaks, her voice still sounds raw.

“York?”

He turns, and has to catch himself from immediately wrapping her in a hug, unsure of how she’s going to react. He puts it in his voice instead, as soft and warm as the towels he just pulled out of the dryer.

“Yes, my Lina bean?”

The tenderness in his voice breaks her, and even her closed eyes can't hold back the tears. She tucks her head further until it is nearly on her own shoulder, and can’t manage more than a whisper.

“I'm sorry.”

This time, York couldn't have stopped himself from hugging her even if he tried. Nevertheless he is gentle, wrapping her in his arms loose enough she could break away if she needed, light enough not to hurt if her pain was physical. “Hey, hey, don't cry,” he soothes her. “It's okay. I'm just glad you returned,” he tries to laugh, kissing her on her hairline. “When you were running, I meant. I watched you go and I was-- anyway, it's okay. Do you-- are you okay?”

“No!” She's angry again, but this time not at him, at herself. At how inconsequential this all is, how dramatic she feels, how even now she wants to push him away and clutch him to her at the same time. “I'm so…” Carolina wants to explain, but she can't put words to the frustration, the overwhelming mess of emotions and she growls even as she puts her arms around him. He shifts slightly and she grips him even tighter.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” A pause, as he racks through his options. “... _thirsty_?”

Carolina pulls back, with a completely straight face, looking him in the eyes. “Yes to all.”

“Um.” York blinks, twice. “Let's… head to the kitchen, then? We can solve two out of those three things at least?” Privately he wishes he had Delta in his head at that moment to be some kind of sounding board. At least then he wouldn't have to voice his bafflement and complete loss at what to do.

Instead of agreeing, Carolina responds by leaning forward, pressing her lips softly to his. She cups her hand along the side of his jaw, as she deepens the kiss, still soft, but now wet as well. And just as softly she pulls back again, reaching for his hand. “Your bread smelled amazing. Can I still try some?”

York chases her mouth for a moment, slow to open his eyes again - sudden as a switch being flipped, he wants her so bad it hurts. “You-- you can have anything of mine you want,” he murmurs, voice low and rumbling despite his best efforts to behave. “You know that.”

“I know.” God, she really is thirsty for him, isn't she? “Let's start with food, though. Maybe I'll be less… this… once I get some food in me.”

York nods. “I-- I made some herb butter. It's in the fridge. Should taste even better now that it's set.”

“That sounds-- tasty.” Carolina drags one finger down York's lips, her eyes moving from his mouth, to his own eyes and back. “C’mon, let's have breakfast before I get cranky again.”

“Mmm.” York follows her back to the kitchen, keeping his questions firm behind his lips as he gets the bread and butter out and starts cutting slices for them both. It's cooled but not gone cold, so they’re almost warm enough to melt the herb butter. York passes it to Carolina first, watching her keenly before he butters his.

Carolina slathers on a thick layer of butter and locks eyes with York before she takes her first bite. “Wow, York,” she mumbles around a mouthful, “this is really good.”

“Really? I'm glad.” York takes a bite and keeps his eyes on her, relaxing by inches. “Let's sit down, then? I'll get us something to drink.”

“Okay.” Carolina grabs a plate from the cupboard, dropping her bread on it. She plucks York’s own from his fingers to free up his hands to handle their drinks, and sits at the table to wait for him. He's not far behind her, pausing halfway with glasses of water in each hand.

“Would-- do you want some wine with this? It's a cheese bread. Kind of fancy?”

“Sure! But can I have a water too?” Carolina holds out her hand for a glass. “I didn't run for that long, but still pretty parched.” It galls her a bit, how her body feels so unused to the exercise. Yes, she was running on an incline, so the ache in her legs is to be expected, and her back a bit too, but she aches all the way through, right onto her guts. In the back of her head, she's already plotting out a workout schedule, and brainstorming for a way they can improvise weights until they can get some real ones.

“Of course. Delta, what's the best--”

“ _I recommend a strong red wine. Then again, I don't have a mouth.” A beat. “That was a joke_.”

“It was, huh?” York remarks, setting the glasses down to slip over to the wine cabinet. “Which ones the dark red?”

“ _Try Sangiovese_.”

York checks a couple bottles before he finds a nice one, snatching the corkscrew and holding it in his teeth as he brings the bottle and a couple short glasses to the table.

“Too early for stems,” he manages around the tool in his mouth.

“Careful of your teeth,” Carolina warns, taking the glasses and setting them away from the edge of the table. “We’ll have to go to a dentist one of these days, but I’d prefer if it wasn't for an emergency.”

York makes a show of being careful as he takes the corkscrew out of his mouth and uncorks the bottle with enviable ease. The first glass he pours is half full, for her, and once again he waits for her to take a sip, hovering over her seated figure.

“Good?” he asks.

“Lovely.” Carolina holds the glass up to the light, enjoying the deep garnet red. “Have we tried this one before? I wouldn't mind getting it again.” She glances down at the plate, picking up her piece of bread and takes a bite, then another sip of wine. “These really are nice together - thank you, Delta.”

“ _You are welcome, Carolina. I hope this assists you in feeling better. If you would like me to assist in diagnosing your issues, we can speak about this in exhaustive depth after breakfast. I am sure that we could discover any medical reason for your mood swings. Perhaps--_ ”

“Later, D?” York pleads, pouring himself a full glass and taking a deep, deep drink.

“You think it is medical in nature, D?” Carolina asks in surprise, setting down her wine. “I didn't just wake up on the bitchy side of the bed this morning?” She gives York a sideways mischievous smile, and waits for Deltas reply, hands folded together.

“ _Most of the time, an emotional state can be caused or worsened by physical conditions. Stress, poor diet, lack of sunlight or exercise, hormones, and a variety of other issues can_ …”

At this point, York has completely stopped listening and is trying to chug a glass of very expensive wine. Yep. Definitely wishing Delta was in his head, mostly so that he could pull him and shut him up before someone steps on some new invisible landmine and Carolina storms out again.

“Hmm. Maybe we should talk later, Delta. But for now, I'll settle for calming York before he just starts drinking straight from the bottle.” Carolina reaches across the table and takes York’s hand. “You okay?”

He sets the glass down. “I--” York takes a breath as the alcohol hits the back of his throat, shaking his head. “I will be fine.” His fingers twine with hers, and he forces that to be the case. He’s fine. He forgives her. He always will. Doesn't mean sometimes it isn't a little bitter going down, but like the wine, it's better once he’s swallowed it. “Eat. Or I’ll hog everything, jus’ to spite you.”

Carolina pulls his hand to her, standing and leaning over the table so she can reach to kiss his fingers. “I'm so sorry, York,” she says softly. “I'm trying.” She sighs and lifts his hand to her lips again, though this kiss goes longer, and she closes her eyes to enjoy it.

“I know,” he croons, coaxing her into his lap. “I know, I know, I know. You always try. It's okay. But eat,” he insists, pulling her plate over from the other side of the table. “You might feel better if you do. And then you can also drink more wine.”

“That sounds good, I'll do that. You eat too.” Carolina takes a bite of her bread, then holds it to his lips, leaning forward to nuzzle his cheek. Her breath speeds up a touch, and she kisses along his cheek, to his jaw, shifting on his lap.

York groans, tilting his head back as he chews. “Carolina,” he mumbles, swallowing. “Eat the fucking bread and then I promise, I _swear_ you can have me however you like. Just a few bites.”

Carolina ducks her head apologetically and stands, moves back to her chair. The rebuke stings, but she tries not to let it show. She takes another bite in silence, and then another.

Across the table, York stays exactly as she left him for a shocked moment before curling forward like wilting lettuce. “God damn it,” he complains to his bread, then raises his eyes to her. “I'm only worried about you, sweetheart. You're freaking me out here. And you haven't eaten all day.”

Carolina finishes the last bite of her bread, delaying her answer as she chews. “I know, York. “ Guilt and discomfort sits low in her abdomen, twisting her insides until she actually presses her hand to her stomach in reaction. “I'll… be right back.”

He watches her go, anxiety and wine fighting each other in his body. He needs to protect her from this, whatever it is, but it's invisible and nameless and everything he tries is the wrong decision. “Delta?” he asks, in a very small voice. “There's not-- not a way you can be in my head and in the house, is there?”

“ _Unfortunately not_.” It's the kindest pitch Delta can put into his speech - York appreciates the effort. “ _If I may interject? It is very unlikely to be your fault. Except perhaps in a very roundabout way._ ”

“Uh… thanks?”

“ _You are welcome, York_.”

Once in the bathroom Carolina pauses to splash some water on her face, try to pull herself together. A wave of discomfort hits her again and she rests her forearms on the edge of the counter, riding it out. It's followed by another sensation, warm and wet, and she frowns as she pulls down her sweatpants, sits on the toilet while she checks her clothes. Her head drops forward with a voiced sigh, and then Carolina raises her head again to seemingly address the ceiling.

“Delta?”

“ _Yes, Carolina_?”

“Could you please ask York to bring in a box of tampons? I didn't think ahead and stored everything in the main bathroom where there was more room.”

“... _Ah. I understand. I have relayed the information along_.” Right on cue, there’s a sudden sound of movement in the house, hurried footsteps that she only hears because she knows what to listen for. Hard to unlearn a light step.

“Delta? Did you know? Or guess? That I might be starting my period?”

“ _It was among the list of possibilities. Not exceptionally high. I had also initially assumed that your irritation was due to York not doing his fair share of the chores for several days_.”

“Yeah, well, he's been working on his other projects, and I had nothing better to do. I'm assertive enough to call his ass out if I feel the need. That didn't bother me.” Carolina starts maneuvering her sweats the rest of the way off, along with her soiled panties. “But apparently just about everything else possible did.”

York practically slams the door open with his shoulder in his haste, carrying a litany of boxes and bottles in his arms. “Okay, I think I grabbed the right box, and I also-- fuck,” he yelps, catching sight of the bright red stain on Carolina’s panties, “fuck, is that-- are you okay?”

Carolina blinks at him, eyes moving from the collection he holds in his arms, up to his face and back. “York,” she says slowly, “Calm down. Everything is fine. I'm fine. It's a period. I'm having my period.” She carefully dislodges the box of tampons from the heap in his arms with one hand, and strokes the other along the side of his arm soothingly. “This is a good thing. Right? You remember what this means?”

He stares at her, blinking once, twice. Then realization dawns across his face, his pulse stuttering from excitement and pride before he comes back to the present. “It’s just--” he tries to gesture, but a bottle of painkillers - one of several - falls out of his arms. “It’s really, really red. Gut reaction, you know? My wife is bleeding, it’s a little--”

“Well, you should probably get used to the idea, because this will be a monthly thing from here on out. Except for the times you keep me from having one.” Carolina smiles, warm and fond and full of promise. “Here -" she picks up the bottle of pills and tucks them back into his arms, “--why don't you go sort this stuff out on the bed for a moment while I take care of what I need to do here, and when I come out, we can snuggle? I know this is a great thing, and I'm fucking overjoyed my body still works,” her smile grows a bit more rigid, “But I feel pretty awful. But just being with you will help with that.”

“I gave you wine,” York laments, half-listening. “I gave you wine and now you can’t take painkillers.” The look he gives her is almost comical in its terror.

“Yoooork.” Carolina reaches up press her fingers under his chin, gently shaking his head from side to side to get his attention. “I only had a few sips. I can have some ibuprofen. _It will be okay._ ”

“You’re sure?”

“ _Carolina will be fine. I suggest you do as she says_.”

York sighs, nuzzling his chin into her hands and closing his eyes. “I have to go make the bed first. Just washed the sheets so we’re gonna have to use the flannels while they dry. That okay? This doesn’t make you sweat a bunch, does it?”

“York,” Carolina repeats, brushing her thumb along the edge of his jaw, “It will be okay.” She pulls away. “Now unless you really want to watch, go on. It'll only take me a moment and I'll be out to help with the sheets, okay?”

God help him, the visual does cross his mind. “Uh. … Nah, I’m good. I’ll go. I’ll shoo.” York plants a kiss on the palm of her hand. “Just don’t change your mind and start sprinting down the driveway. I’ll chase you. And I had a _full_ glass of wine.”

That gets a laugh out of her and she playfully swats at his cheek. “Go on then. Git. I need to remember how these stupid things work. But… York?” The wave of emotions hits her again, but instead of growing angry or weepy, she just goes soft. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. And you’re going to eat this goddamn bread,” he insists, “because painkillers are bad on an empty stomach, and I don’t care how many crumbs we get in the bed because I love you that much. And--”

He swallows, grows serious. “And next time, we’ll be ready, so-- don’t run, okay? If you have to, we’ll get a treadmill so you can jog when it rains or snows. But-- don’t do that again, okay? Not like that.”

“Yeah, okay. Of course. But… would you come run with me? If I promise to go slow and let you keep up? Only…” Carolina shifts uncomfortably with the admission, “I missed it. Used to be such a built in part of my day, so routine that I never even had to think about it. Wake, change, run.” She drops her hand to his arm again, but this time it's harder to tell which of them she is soothing. “I don't have to keep the same schedule but, I'd love to do it with you.”

“Of all the cool shit we used to do,” he deadpans, “you miss _jogging_.”

“Well, it was either that or head-shotting every bastard that got you in his sights,” Carolina quips back. “That happened a lot too. But at least the jogging didn't leave me washing brain stem off my armour.”

It would be gross if it hadn’t happened enough they’d been numbed to the horror. As it stands, he can joke off the memory. “Can’t blame ‘em. No one could resist scoping this fine ass.”

“I sure can't. And you know, speaking of,” Carolina tilts her head to the side, “If you are grossed out about things being a bit messy with me once a month, I wouldn't mind using that time to focus on you.” She drags her hand down his body, careful not to knock anything out of his hands, and settles it over his cock. “Setting that time aside special every month to fuck you senseless with the strap on would actually make me look forward to my period.

York stares at her, heartbeat racing as blood rushes out of his brain. “Uh--”

“ _A-hem_.” There’s a digitized cough. “ _York, sheets and breakfast mess. Carolina, tampon. If you are going to engage in sex, please recall that the only stain fighting solution you currently own is a two thirds empty bottle of hydrogen peroxide that one of you left uncapped for an hour_.”

“He’s like a bitchy dorm mom,” York stage whispers, trying to reconcile how fast he’d gotten hard and gone soft again.

With a grin, Carolina gives him a swat on the ass, hurriedly catching the pill bottle that she dislodges. “Scoot. Let me take care of this. Out in a sec.”

Finally, York gets back to his feet and steps out, setting the pile of supplies on one of the bedside tables and getting to work making the bed. Now that he knows why her mood has been a mess all day, he feels like a weight has been lifted. Her body is healing, settling back to normal, and that could mean--

He buries his face in a pillowcase to hide his grin. As miraculous as it is that they even got this far - York knows he’s lucky to be alive himself, much less with her - he can't help but revisit all those old dreams of a flock of mini-Carolinas, all so different but with her bright green eyes. He wants it. He wants it so bad it hurts but in a giddy way, like getting shot in the field and holding his organs in with his hand as Delta pumps his body full of painkillers.

With a delighted huff, York goes back to work, wrestling with the fitted flannel sheets.


End file.
